Love's a State of Mind
by legheads-lament
Summary: Outlaw Queen — "She wouldn't have thought him such a thorough lover, what privacy could be garnered in a forest to know how to please a woman? She'd imagined his child had been made during a quick, fumbling tumble, but something told her, something screamed at her that no, she would not be disappointed by the skills of an outdoorsman. Anything but it would seem."


A/N: So this happened. I wouldn't consider it fully M-rated as I don't do graphic descriptions or name off body parts that we all already know are involved and don't need to be told point blank about. Read with caution if you don't like M-rated things, but rest assure you won't be scarred at least if you do. And I hope you enjoy :)

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If she didn't know better she'd think he did it on purpose. Rolling up his sleeves so every gesture he made had that crest waving like a beacon right in her face. No one else thought a thing about it, but every glimpse made her insides twist a little harder, the pang in her chest twinge over and over again. He wasn't hers for the taking. Not now, maybe not ever. And dwelling on any of it would get her nowhere. It didn't matter if his eyes lingered, or his voice expressed some great concern for her safety — she wasn't his and he wasn't hers and it shouldn't have mattered in the least.

But just like every other circumstance that didn't go the way she would have planned, neither did this.

* * *

Her back hit wall and he followed a second behind. A large, hard body keeping her in place as his hands engulfed her waist, his lips taking ownership of her neck as they had every right to. And she supposed with the way she had let them press against hers not a moment before he believed that a reasonable assumption.

She grunted as he kept her in place, felt dwarfed by him even in heels, his presence seeming to still tower over her, the weight of his gaze making her feel small but still somehow empowered — the want in his eyes was enough to make her feel like she had control, even when he was the one kissing her, touching her, because she let him.

Perhaps it was that very want that lead her to allow this at all. She didn't want this man. She couldn't. Shouldn't. And yet his want of her made it all so easy — to let him have her. But there was only so much letting a queen was willing to do, and while his kisses against her throat caused a selection of hums to be released from it, soon she was taking a fistful of his hair and dragging his lips back up to hers.

It was much easier this way, to lose herself and forget — forget about her thousand pound heart weighing down her steps more and more everyday, forget about that beast that longed to gore her, the one carved into his wrist. Forgetting was so much simpler when her lips stayed occupied with his, one kiss drawn out into another, turning them cherry red and thrumming for how it made her heartbeat leap straight into them. He stole her breath with that kiss and the lack of oxygen seemed to be all she needed to melt further into the wall, until her hands came to life and began tugging at his belt, pulling his shirt up until they could sneak inside. They were greeted with hard plains of muscle and she felt herself sigh against his lips. A mistake, another of many, when next she felt him smiling as he kissed her. But her eyes stayed clamped shut, he wouldn't see the lust that was swirling in their depths, not until she had it back under control.

She felt his hands begin to wander, prying her off of the wall and fumbling for the fastener of her dress. She smirked at his failed attempts, knowing that zippers were probably not his forte, and so her hands left him to reach up and start tugging the zip down herself, until he seemed to get the message and took it into his own hands. Hers came to rest on his chest, and as she thought before so she thought again when he didn't even flinch — he hadn't a clue of her reputation if her hands hovering mere inches above his heart didn't give him pause. But he didn't falter, she felt his hands hit the base of her spine, her dress being successfully unzipped.

At once she felt his hands and the night air against her skin. A glaring contrast as his rough fingers and palms slid against her bare back, while the air was like a whisper, blowing softer than a breath. A trail of goosebumps was left in its wake, intensified when he began pulling at her dress again, until her arms were released and it was left to bunch at her waist.

He stopped their kiss then, pulled back enough to stare down at her, his gaze paralyzing her in place. Her lips stayed parted, eyes following his as they moved down. She stood like a statue and yet the way he looked at her — the way his eyes took her in inch by inch, her chest wanted to heave for breath but she stayed frozen, lost to his gaze as it had been too long since any man had looked at her that way.

"You — are exquisite," he managed to get out, his voice gruff and breathless. No response came to her lips, but her hands seemed to gain mobility once again as they rose to his shirt once more, pulling it up until he obliged her and raised his arms, letting her pull it up over his head. It was discarded to the floor a moment later, and her eyes that still held his began to waiver, dragging down and flitting back up before he would get a big head — or worse, expect any equally inane observation right back. To avoid it she shimmied herself out of her dress, hips tilting this way and that as she pushed the fabric down, leaving it to puddle on the floor until it was kicked away. His hands settled back on her waist and the growl that rumbled in his throat nearly turned her legs to jelly. He wanted her beyond all logic or reason, and damn it all if she didn't deserve someone who wanted her like this.

By some miracle of fate she was saved from any weak-kneed reactions, as he lifted her with his ease and her legs encircled his waist as she was pressed back into the wall. Her heartbeat had begun to settle but was now thundering in her chest once again. The sensation almost painful, black hooves galloping on pavement, so loud he would hear it any moment. But it would seem forest living made him oblivious to many things, as no matter how loud it pounded he never seemed to hear it, even when his lips were back on her pulse and her body began to ache for so much more.

"You have a queen in a state that few have seen her in," she somehow found her voice amidst his kisses, "is this all you're planning to do?"

She had learned long ago that thieves answer to a challenge more than anything else. Tell them you don't think they can do something, doubt them in any way and you're likely to have a suddenly accommodating man on your hands. It was true for her first thief, and now it would appear to be true for her second as well.

She was pulled from the wall so quickly she actually scrambled to get her arms around his neck to steady herself. He didn't even pry his lips away for the move, no they stayed glued to her throat, peppering kisses both short and slow along the column of her neck — a great many she knew were leaving marks but she'd do away with them afterward.

He carried her until his knees ran up against the bed, then lowered her down onto it with him pressing from above. She felt as though his weight could nearly crush her, but she wanted it — wanted the sheer heft of his affections to stomp out her every aching thought. A hand turned to claw at his back, leaving red lines up over his shoulder, ones he wouldn't have the luxury of making disappear when they were through. He may not have been hers but she'd mark him like he were, could have been, he would know what he was missing out on even if he didn't realize what it meant. It didn't matter. He wanted her and he still would after this, she would make sure of it. Perhaps if he wanted her enough and she rejected him she would get her power back. Cruelty was a picturesque alternative to allowing herself to want him back.

When he'd exhausted himself, she suspected, he finally moved away from her neck, standing to get his pants down his legs and then seeing to all that remained on her. Her heels were first, which clattered to the floor like he had no idea of how to treat expensive fairs. Next was her stockings, thigh high and when his fingers met the skin just above as he set about unclipping them from her garters she felt her throat hitch suddenly. He was taking his time, too much of it, dragging the sheer fabric from her leg at an agonizing pace. She thought she might go mad if he took much longer. Blood seemed to pound in her ears making it difficult to hear how ragged her breathing was. Too ragged, she could see, when he smirked at her and placed a kiss in the hollow of her hip, dragging the other stocking down and then placing another.

"I don't like to be kept waiting," she said, pushing up on her elbows to appear even more impatient.

"I never would have guessed that about you, your majesty," he smiled as he spoke, causing her eyes to narrow at him. But better than fight fire with fire, or fight him with it, she simply smirked in return, and then allowed her hands to sneak under her back to find the clasp of her bra. She'd had half a mind to let him fumble with it too but now, now she was far beyond impatient, and what better way to get his attention to drift higher once again? Once unfastened the bra sagged a bit, but didn't expose anything just yet, that came when she slid one strap down her arm, and then two, her stomach muscles flexing as they kept her sat up just so, until the bra was unceremoniously tossed aside and she rested back on her elbows once again. He watched the scene with hunger in his eyes, his teeth gritted together like some animal waiting for the moment to devour his prey. She sat like a predator disguised as prey, perilously tempting and he fell for it, as they all do, and was crawling over her a moment later, his teeth and tongue immediately meeting her breast. The other was engulfed by a large hand, growing sensitive on contact and she bit her lip at how he touched her.

She wouldn't have thought him such a thorough lover, what privacy could be garnered in a forest to know how to please a woman? She'd imagined his child had been made during a quick, fumbling tumble, but the way his tongue lavished over her, his thumb working her up into a hardened peak, something told her, something screamed at her that no, she would not be disappointed by the skills of an outdoorsman. Anything but it would seem.

Her eyes fell shut as his kisses and caresses wandered about her chest, until she was sinking back down into the mattress and a hand was tangling into his hair. But her body was still throbbing for something more, more than what his lips or hands could do to her, no matter how it felt to have them working so dutifully. She squirmed beneath him and the hand in his hair became a claw once again, pulling him from his work and hoping the urgency she allowed to reflect in her eyes would say for her what she wouldn't utter herself. She would not beg or plead for more from him, he would give it if he knew what was good for him — and apparently, he did.

Her panties were stripped from her legs a moment later, garter belt in tow and the tremble in her thighs signaled all too loudly how much she wanted him too. But she ignored it, focused on him settling between her legs and finally, finally putting an end to the misery of leaving her waiting.

He pushed into her and she choked down a gasp, her mouth dropping open just after as he hovered all too close and started a rhythm far too slow. His movements were languid, lazy and infuriating for how they made her writhe, body begging for more when her lips refused to utter any such thing. But he seemed to get the message, as soon he was pumping more quickly, and it was too late that she realized how wrong she'd been, that his slower movements were all that kept her still threaded together. His faster pace was too much, it had her clinging in all the wrong ways, desperately trying to hold on whilst she held onto him, the noises collecting in her throat finding their way out no matter how she tried to quiet them, to suffocate them before the drew breath — they drew it on their own and she was left still writhing, back arching up into him, whimpering for every forward thrust. He was making a mess out of her and had she any voice to speak she would have cursed him for it.

She could feel herself already clenching around him, her breath coming in short gasps that did nothing to allow air into her lungs, and there he was still hovering over her, eyes penetrating even more and a hand holding her hip to keep her still as he pushed deeper, harder. And when she thought she would be torn in two for the build up of pleasure radiating through her, everything began to glow, a magenta mist swirling in her eyes and just as his name tumbled without a care from her swollen lips, consciousness ripped her away from all of it.

Her body lurched up, her heart thundering, skin sweaty and breathing unacceptably erratic. It was only a dream.

If only she could make herself believe that.

* * *

Oopsy? I got such positive feedback on my first OQ fic that the muse didn't want to leave me. This all started from the last two lines, an evil little idea I got last night and stayed up til 5 in the morning writing, and finished today. I want to explore this couple and see them develop more on screen before I really get into anything like this, but here's a little taste for the time being. In my head it fits into canon, which is my favorite way to write. I would love some feedback on this, and who knows, maybe Robin will have a little dream of his own at some point ;D


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